My bestfriend sings a song about her best friend in the hospital and it takes me a moment to realize she means me
The chords remind me that she cried for me amongst the faceless mass of our anonymous, all knowing town that is a face that knows you but you only barely recognise I call him first, before anyone else I call him because bless this boy he still loves me, he says this 12 times before I say goodbye, which he refuses simply with a see you soon It is simply complicated how much and in the ways I love these two people To an extent I could never tell them, to an extent I can write them this poem and tell them I love you more than I love you I am sorry more than I’m sorry You both kissed my nose and forgave me even as it was used as an accomplice in my addiction it was the artist that drew on a mirror with a razor blade with little white lines that looked too much like my waist at times He kissed my lips even though he knew that I had lied to him with the same exact ones He held my hand even though I had used the same ones to hurt myself, thus hurting him She told me she loved me even though I hurt her She held my shaking half seized body with hurt in her eyes but selflessness in her actions I held on because they loved me back in the same different continuum that is love I loved her like I loved music I loved him like I loved the setting sun Not more or less but differently I sent her to haze, I sent him to hell And he walked out of the flames with a bucket of water to extinguish my fire She walked out of the haze with a new song just for me It is my everything, these two beings not being my whole reason for life but being a part of it and making it worth living
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I don’t miss you anymore
I thought you were my world But he is my universe The other day I talked to a man
He said that the greatest pain he ever knew Was telling his wife she was beautiful And her not believing him He said he lost his marriage If you need me to believe I’m beautiful I will Because the greatest pain I can conceive Is losing you Suicide isn't cowardly
People's reaction to depression and suicidal thoughts is cowardly I don't know who I am, I'm just skin and stories like a book If you can read my self harm scars like letters they will tell you stories my mouth still can't tell Your arms look like my legs and I wanna kiss away the pain Take your razor and shatter it for what it let you do There is an undeniable pain that comes with being in love
What if I’m not enough for you You tell me I’m everything to you I don’t believe you We as humans don’t seem to like messes
We don’t like things out of place I was avoided because my heart had fallen to my stomach and shattered Until you, you put your hands through my ribcage and pulled my heart back into it’s place It beats raspily and shudders with every palpitation Now loved it is easier to breathe but the scars don’t go away And you are the glue holding the broken pieces of my heart together And if you leave I’ll be a mess again When you kiss me you place your fingers in the holes in my vintage denim jacket to hold me tighter
Your mouth makes me hungry like I’m stoned Because love, you’re my drug and I’m more addicted than I have ever been to any substance I go through withdrawls when you’re not there Because god help me I’ve never felt like this before Eyes on fire promising an intangible forever Infatuation making you dumb enough to believe it When I know that one of us will break the other and as we are two artists it will be beautiful and tragic |
AuthorThis is my daily poetry practice for my intro to creativity class. Archives
March 2018
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